


Slow to Anger (But I Toe the Line)

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Detective Comics (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Aggression, Anger, Angst, Arguing, Attempted Murder, Blood and Injury, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Fighting, Gen, He's trying at least, Hurt No Comfort, Insults, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Needles, Poison Ivy Causes Problems, Prompt: waking up restrained, Restraints, Somewhat, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Tim Drake is So Done, Violence, Whumptober 2020, but nobody knows that until later on, ever watched kujo?, he's not in his right mind, tim doesn't do anything TOO bad, tim is like kujo, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: “Seriously?” Tim gestures to his uniform covered in black plant matter, the goop matted in his hair and dripping in places that no one wants plant goop to drip. “This is what you call fine? If you werereallyso concerned about Ivy’s escape from Arkham, you would have sent me with backup.”“I knew you could handle it.”“No, you knew I was just gullible enough to do the scut work you didn’twantto do.”(Tim is acting more angry than usual for some reason. The Batfam can't figure out what's wrong with him until it's almost too late.)
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948297
Comments: 51
Kudos: 700





	Slow to Anger (But I Toe the Line)

**Author's Note:**

> Whump Day 1: "Waking Up Restrained"
> 
> (Honestly that part doesn't come until way later in the fic but look I had an idea and ran with it okay) (Title is from "Your Obedient Servant" from Hamilton because that's a thing I'm doing for Whumptober, every fic is named after a line from Hamilton because the idea occurred to me once at 6am completely unprompted and I thought it would be fun so that's what I'm doing)

“Can you hurry up? I want to wash this stuff off of me.”  
  
“In a minute.” Bruce preps the syringe, preparing for the blood draw. “Hold out your arm for me?”   
  
Tim obeys, rolling up his sleeve. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d been there, you know.”   
  
Bruce sticks the needle in, ignoring Tim’s wince as he draws a vial’s worth of blood. He hands Tim a cotton ball to press to the injection site. “I told you, I needed to be at that fundraiser. Trust me—if I could have gotten out of it, I would have.”   
  
“You just didn’t want to deal with Ivy.”   
  
“You handled yourself fine out there.”   
  
“Seriously?” Tim gestures to his uniform covered in black plant matter, the goop matted in his hair and dripping in places that _no one_ wants plant goop to drip. “This is what you call fine? If you were _really_ so concerned about Ivy’s escape from Arkham, you would have sent me with backup.”   
  
“I knew you could handle it.”   
  
“No, you knew I was just gullible enough to do the scut work you didn’t _want_ to do.”   
  
“What do you want me to say? Do you want an apology? Fine, Tim, I’m sorry that I thought Poison Ivy would be easy for you to handle. I’m sorry I didn’t know that she hadn’t been taking her meta-dampening meds at Arkham. I’m sorry that you got covered in plant gunk.” He hands Tim a towel. “Are you satisfied?”   
  
“Not even close.”   
  
“Well, I tried. Now go take a shower. You smell like fertilizer.”   
  
Tim balls up his goopy towel and throws it at Bruce. Bruce dodges easily, catching it before the nasty plant gunk can make contact with his skin. “Text me when you get the results.” Tim stomps out of the cave, leaving goopy footprints in his wake.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Tim’s anger still hasn’t faded by the time morning arrives. Bruce poked his head in Tim’s room last night to inform him that all the tests came up negative, but to keep him updated if any symptoms should arise. Tim threw a pillow at his face and told him to get lost.   
  
It appears that Tim is holding onto this grudge with both hands, because he doesn’t even look at Bruce when he comes downstairs for breakfast. He talks to no one as he pours himself a lukewarm cup of coffee, left over from the pot Bruce made an hour earlier. Tim hasn’t woken up this late in months, but Bruce supposes that’s partly his fault.   
  
“Morning,” Dick greets Tim, muffled by the orange wedge in his mouth. His lips pull back in an orange smile.   
  
Tim says nothing. He’s rifling through one of Alfred’s pristinely organized cupboards, the highest one that Tim can reach without a step-stool. “Who the fuck stole my Pop-Tarts?”   
  
“Language,” Bruce chides. He sits at the table with Damian and Cass, reading the morning paper. Apparently there’s a cat show this weekend. Maybe he and Selina can use it as an excuse for date night.   
  
“I had a box of limited-edition pumpkin spice Pop-Tarts in the back of this cabinet, and now they’re gone. I know someone took them.”   
  
“Did you eat them?” Dick tries.   
  
“Right, because I’m an idiot with no short-term memory.”   
  
“Tim,” Bruce warns. “Cool it. They’re just Pop-Tarts.” What’s got him so upset? Tim has always been the most level-headed of Bruce’s children. Bruce can count on one hand the number of times he’s witnessed Tim explode without reason.   
  
“They’re _my_ Pop-Tarts. Is it so bad that I want one fucking thing to myself in this house?”   
  
“Hang on,” Jason says, gnawing his way through a piece of turkey bacon. “Was it a blue box? Had pumpkins and shit on the front?” Tim nods. “Pretty sure I ate those. They were awesome. Thanks for buying ‘em.”   
  
Tim slams the cupboard door, making Titus jolt and prick up his ears. _“Un_ believable.”   
  
“Chill, dude, I’ll buy you another box.”   
  
“They were _limited edition,_ asshole.”   
  
“And that’s my fault?”   
  
That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Tim lunges for Jason, eyes blazing and looking to the world like a one-man strike force. Dick grabs him around the waist before he can do any damage, holding him back from Jay, who looks more amused than anything.   
  
“Tim, cut it out. It’s too early in the morning for this.”   
  
Tim pushes Dick away with a harshly jabbed elbow, right in his gut. “Get _off_ me.” He snatches his coffee mug from the counter and stalks from the room. Bruce can’t remember the last time he saw Tim this angry.   
  
Jason watches him leave. “What’s his problem?”   
  
“He had a rough night,” Bruce says.   
  
“So that gives him an excuse to be a little bitch?”   
  
“Like you weren’t asking for it.” Bruce opens his newspaper again. “And you’re buying him ten more boxes or I’m canceling your credit cards.”   
  
  


* * *

  
  
“We need to talk,” Bruce says upon entering Tim’s bedroom.  
  
“I don’t want to.” Tim sits cross-legged on his bed, jabbing at the keys of his laptop like they personally wronged him. There is a pile of glass shards on the floor that clearly belong to what was once a lamp. Every angle in Tim’s body is tense, a coiled spring waiting to shoot.  
  
“Too bad. We’re doing it anyway.” Bruce pulls out Tim’s desk chair and sits, facing him. “I know you’re still angry about last night.”  
  
“World’s greatest detective, everybody.”  
  
Bruce purses his lips, willing himself not to rise to the bait. “I _understand_ that you’re angry, but you can’t take it out on your siblings. Hell, you shouldn’t take it out on _me._ If you have a problem, then you need to talk to me about it like an adult.”  
  
“Fine. You want me to be a big boy and use my words?” Tim slams his laptop shut, sets his piercing gaze on bruce. “I’m sick of you treating me like a kid. Every night I go out there and follow your orders, do everything that’s expected of me. And what do I get for it? I get you sending me to clean up the messes you don’t _feel_ like dealing with yourself. I’m not your partner, I’m your _lackey.”_  
  
“That’s not what happened, and you know it. Everyone else was busy. You were available. That’s all there was to it.”  
  
“Do you even realize how much I do for you? Who stays up late writing mission reports when everyone else is too tired to do it themselves? Who do you push your cases on without even asking, just _expecting_ me to go along with it? Who did you push harder than _any_ of your other proteges, and for what? To turn me into the perfect pack mule for your bullshit?”  
  
It feels like Bruce has just been slapped in the face. Where is all this _coming_ from?  
  
“What are you talking about? Everything I’ve put you through has been with good intentions. You know that.”  
  
“And where has it gotten me? I became Robin because I thought it would help people, but all it’s done is hurt me. My real dad would still be alive if I hadn’t become your Robin, but I did, and now look at me.” He spreads his arms. “I’ve lost everything. I lost things I didn’t even know I could lose. All because _you_ did this to me.”  
  
“Tim, you _made_ me train you. God knows I wanted to send you home and let you keep your normal life, but you didn’t give me a choice.”  
  
“You always have a choice! You could have tried harder. I should be going to school, making friends who won’t die in the next worldwide crisis, working on college applications. Not fighting for my life every night and wondering if there’s any point in planning ahead at all!” Tim’s face is red, his eyes smoldering with rage. “You ruined my _life,_ Bruce. And you don’t even seem to care.”  
  
“I _do_ care. And I do want to help you with whatever you’re going through right now.”  
  
Tim shakes his head. “You don’t. If you really cared about me, you wouldn’t let Jason and Damian treat me like shit. And you wouldn’t keep treating me this way. The only reason you feel guilty now is because I stopped turning my cheek and taking it. You’re not a _father,_ you never have been. You’re just a fucked-up man who takes in fucked-up kids so he doesn’t feel alone in his worthless, fucked-up life. And you’re terrified to look in the mirror because you know it’s true.”  
  
Bruce is speechless. Every word physically aches, needles stabbing at his heart and tearing it open, making him bleed. Tim might as well have just shot him in the chest.  
  
“You didn’t fix any of us, Bruce. You _destroyed_ us. Every single one of us would have been better off if we’d never met you. And you know it.”  
  
“I...where is all this coming from?” Bruce almost can’t believe what he’s hearing, like he’s floating outside of his body as it happens. Like he’s watching a film reel. Some of it is just blatantly not true. Some of it...he can’t believe Tim has been thinking this way for so long and never said a word.   
  
“If you don’t already know, then you’re dumber than I thought you were.” Tim stands, not even bothering to grab his phone as he makes for the door.  
  
“Tim—”  
  
“You wanted me to talk, I talked. Now leave me the fuck alone.” Tim slams the door behind him. A picture frame falls off the wall and breaks on impact.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Bruce has been avoiding Tim ever since Tim let loose everything that’s been building up for the past five years. Tim doesn’t mind the time alone. Everyone he sees just makes him want to bite their heads off anyway.   
  
Which is why, of course, Damian has to choose now to come down the hallway towards Tim as he heads for the den, right when Tim’s knuckles ache for something to smash. The kid’s got a cup of hot chocolate which he sips as he reads some Percy Jackson book. He doesn’t look at Tim, doesn’t gift him even a wandering glance.   
  
_Say something. Give me an excuse._   
  
As the demon passes, Tim knocks his elbow into Damian’s, making him drop his book. Damian stops, wheels on Tim. “Watch where you’re going, Drake.”   
  
_Perfect._   
  
Before Damian has time to spit another snotty insult, Tim’s fist makes a crunching impact on his face. The mug shatters on the ground, hot chocolate splashing on their feet. Damian stumbles back, clutching his nose. He lifts his hand and finds blood staining his fingers. “What the _hell_ is wrong with you?”   
  
Damian is an enemy. He never liked Tim, never saw him as an equal. He thinks he’s _better_ than Tim. And now Tim’s fist is painted with his blood.   
  
Tim should have done this years ago.   
  
Damian has barely recovered from the first hit when Tim is swinging again, relishing in the pain vibrating through his knuckles. Damian fights back, dodges the blows, and Tim couldn’t care less about doing permanent damage. He _wants_ to hurt the little prick. He _wants_ to feel his bones give way under Tim’s fists. He wants to make him bleed.   
  
“What’s—oh my god, Damian!”   
  
_Of course. Of course he’s your only concern._ Tim can’t believe he ever trusted Dick Grayson.   
  
Tim knocks Damian to the floor, gets his hands around the little snot’s neck and _squeezes._ He ignores Dick grabbing at his arms, trying to pull him off. “Tim, stop it! You’re gonna kill him!”   
  
Suddenly Tim is being grabbed from behind, pulled off Damian’s body. Damian gasps for air, coughing. Tim fights and twists in the person’s grip, howling obscenities.   
  
“Dude, calm the _fuck_ down.” It takes a second for the voice to register as Jason’s and Tim sees _red._   
  
Jason Todd. The one who has always hated Tim, resented Tim, _hurt_ Tim. He tried to kill Tim twice. And Tim just _took it._   
  
He’s done taking it.   
  
Tim manages to break out of Jason’s hold long enough to swipe one of the mug shards from the floor. He plunges it into Jason’s thigh as deep as he can. Jason shouts but doesn’t stop trying to get a grip on Tim.   
  
In his peripheral Tim sees Dick tending to his precious Damian, and isn’t that just fucking predictable? Dick never cared about Tim, not really. Tim was a placeholder from the start, a replacement for the brother he lost. Then Damian came along and Dick realized he didn’t need Tim anymore; he found the little brother he’s been wanting all along. Not Tim. Never Tim.   
  
“Replacement, you _need_ to calm down.” Jason wrenches Tim’s arm behind his back, twisting it until Tim yelps in pain. He doesn’t stop struggling. He kicks at Jason’s legs and hopes to shatter something. With his free hand Tim scrabbles blindly, scratching every inch of Jason’s skin he finds. He wants to draw blood.   
  
“You little shit, would you _stop—”_ Jason grunts when Tim makes contact with his knee, the joint buckling. “Oh, fuck it.” Something bashes into the back of Tim’s head and everything goes black.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
“What the hell happened?” Bruce demands. He arrives at the Batcave to find Tim unconscious on a medical cot which Dick is currently handcuffing him to. Like he’s a prisoner. Damian is seated on an exam table while Alfred stitches up a painful-looking cut on his cheek. The boy’s nose is crooked and one of his eyes blossoms a deep purple.   
  
“There’s something wrong with Tim.” Jason is leaning against the wall with his leg stretched out in front of him, digging around in a gash on his thigh with a pair of tweezers.   
  
“Is everyone okay?”   
  
“Don’t know if I’d call your sunflower child attacking us _okay,_ but sure.”   
  
“He _attacked_ you?”   
  
“Mostly Damian,” Dick says. He tightens the last strap around Tim’s wrist. “By the time I got there, Tim was beating on him like he’d lost his mind. I’ve never seen him act like that.”   
  
“I swear to god he tried to bite me,” Jason says.   
  
Bruce goes over to Damian, gently tips his head up to see his injuries more clearly. “Are you okay?”   
  
Damian bats Bruce’s hand away. “I’m fine, Father. But Drake has gone crazy.”   
  
“Can you tell me what happened?”   
  
_“I_ didn’t do anything.”   
  
“I know you didn’t. No one is blaming you. I just need to know the full story so we can figure out what’s wrong.”   
  
Damian scowls. “I was minding my own business. Drake bumped into me, I told him to watch where he was going, and in the next second he was punching me. He was like a wild animal.”   
  
“Told you it’s rabies,” Jason says. He holds a piece of bloody ceramic aloft, pinched between the tweezers like a prize. “Any minute now he’s going to start foaming at the mouth like Old Yeller.”   
  
Bruce ignores him. “Has anyone else noticed Tim acting strange lately?”   
  
“That’s a joke, right? He flipped out on me over _Pop-Tarts._ You can’t tell me that’s normal.”   
  
“And what about before that? Has he been aggressive, erratic at any time before then?”   
  
“What are you thinking, Bruce?” Dick asks.   
  
Bruce goes over to one of the cabinets across the room. He rummages around for a syringe. “Tim fought Ivy two nights ago when she escaped from Arkham. I tested him for everything we’ve encountered so far, but he got covered in some kind of...plant-based sludge. It must have done something to his brain chemistry, heightened his aggressiveness.”   
  
“You’re just assuming?” Dick says.   
  
“Do you have a better theory?”   
  
“Rabies,” Damian says. “Steroids. A Red Lantern ring. Maybe he’s simply snapped.”   
  
“Tim wouldn’t do this on purpose.”   
  
“What makes you so sure?”   
  
“Because it’s _Tim._ He’s not—he’s not like this. He would never want to hurt us.”   
  
“Speak for yourself,” Damian mutters.   
  
“If it turns out to be rabies after all,” Jason chimes in, “I volunteer to be the one to put him out of his misery.”   
  
Bruce shoots him a glare. “It’s not rabies.”   
  
“Fine. Don’t come crying to me when he starts snarling and using your neck as a chew toy.” Everyone ignores him.   
  
Dick’s fingers card through Tim’s hair as Bruce rolls up Tim’s sleeve. “Is he going to be okay?”   
  
Bruce sticks the needle in. “We’ll find out after I run the sample. Hopefully we can figure out what it is she did to him and find a way to reverse it.”   
  
  


* * *

  
  
It takes an hour before Tim wakes up from his Jason-induced nap. Dick is on watch duty while the others try to fabricate a cure, having discovered that Ivy’s concoction is indeed what broke their brother and son. No one else wanted to volunteer for babysitting the patient, not that Dick blames them. Damian isn’t going to be able to see out of his right eye for at _least_ a week, and Jason needed seven stitches in his leg.   
  
Tim stirs. “Nng—what’s…” He tries to move his arm, only to find it strapped down to the cot. “What? What is—” He sees Dick and his eyes blow wide. “Dick? What’s happening? Why am I tied up?”   
  
“Everything is okay.”   
  
“Tell me what the _fuck_ is going on.” Dick has seen Tim angry like this before, but never directed at him. It’s unnerving.   
  
“Poison Ivy did something to you. It’s making you aggressive, but Bruce is working on the cure now.”   
  
“What are you talking about? I’m fine. Let me go.”   
  
“You’re not fine. You nearly killed Damian.”   
  
“He deserved it.”   
  
“Are you hearing yourself? He’s just a _kid.”_   
  
“So was I! And you all let him do whatever he wants—you let him get away with _murder._ But once I lose my cool for a split second, suddenly you want to preach responsibility.” His words are snarls, his eyes practically glowing with an anger that Dick has never seen in him.   
  
“You’re not thinking straight.”   
  
“And you’re a fucking _hypocrite._ You think you’re a hero, think that just because you’re the original then that means you have some moral high ground compared to the rest of us?” Tim’s teeth are bared, his words laced with venom. “Everyone adores Dick Grayson, the golden boy, the best of us, the _martyr._ Nobody sees what’s underneath that stupid smile. They don’t see what a pathetic _coward_ you are. If it weren’t for Bruce’s coattail, you wouldn’t have any of it. You’d be _nothing.”_   
  
Dick chokes on his next breath. He presses his hand to his mouth to keep himself from doing something stupid, like crying. “This isn’t you,” he tells himself. “This is just the toxin talking.”   
  
“You’re an _idiot._ You’re all idiots.” Tim pulls on the restraints, his back arching as he struggles to break free. “Every one of you is too deluded to consider that maybe, _just maybe,_ I’m telling the truth. Maybe it’s _not_ some Ivy toxin messing up my brain and all I’m doing is speaking my mind for once. The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”   
  
“This isn’t the truth. You’re not my little brother right now.”   
  
“You’re pathetic.” Tim yanks on the cuffs, his face twisted with so much rage Dick almost doesn’t recognize him. He’s a stranger. “Let. Me. Go.”   
  
“No.”   
  
“Let me _go!”_   
  
“You’re too dangerous to set free right now. I’m sorry.” Dick reaches for Tim’s hand, only for Tim to slap it away with a growl. “It’s going to be okay.”   
  
“You’re a fucking _coward._ A stupid, weak, lying, pathetic—” Tim thrashes, lets out a wordless, frustrated shout. “Fucking _bastard!”_ He fights some more, hissing and spitting insults like he’s flinging acid.   
  
Dick turns his head so Tim can’t see him wipe away a tear that slips past the barricade. He won’t give Tim anything more to use against him when he’s barely keeping it together as it is. Dick takes a deep breath. “Call me whatever you want, Tim. Get it out of your system. I can take it.”   
  
  


* * *

  
  
It takes a long time before Bruce finishes fabricating the cure—maybe too long. He can’t stand the thought of his own son holding so much hatred inside of him. Hatred for Bruce. He tries to expel the thought from his mind, tells himself that this isn’t Tim right now, but it keeps creeping back in like a cancerous cell.   
  
Dick is still sitting with Tim by the time Bruce returns. It’s an impressive feat of strength that Dick can just sit there while Tim pelts him with spewed insults for hours on end. Dick looks exhausted, cradling a cup of tea in his hands.  
  
Bruce squeezes Dick’s shoulder and Dick practically melts into the touch. “How is he doing?”  
  
“He’s been like this for hours. I’m surprised he hasn’t tired himself out yet.” Tim screams more obscenities to prove his point. He’s like Bane on venom withdrawal: unrecognizable behind all the hatred, the desperation.  
  
“And what about you? Are you doing okay?”  
  
Dick hesitates. Instead of answering, he gestures to the needle in Bruce’s hand. “Did you do it? Is that what’s going to fix him?”  
  
“I hope so. I hate seeing him like this.” Understatement. Bruce is already planning ahead, clearing out his mental schedule so he can escape upstairs for a good cry later. “Help me hold him steady?” Dick sighs but nods.   
  
“You stay the _fuck_ away from me,” Tim snarls. “Don’t fucking touch me, you fucking—fucking piece of _shit.”_ Bruce fights the lump in his throat as Dick holds Tim’s head still. Bruce wastes no time injecting the serum into his neck before the thrashing starts anew. He wants Tim back. He wants his son back.   
  
The cure works quickly, the adrenaline in Tim’s body fading as it starts to take effect. With what energy he has left he continues to fight against the restraints, his eyes infernos of revulsion. “You’re _monsters,”_ he spits. _“_ Every fucking one of you. You’re all stupid, vile, _brainless—”_ Tim’s words start to slur, his lids drooping. “I hate you. I fucking—I _hate_ you…”   
  
Bruce hates how relieved he is when Tim loses consciousness altogether, like a monster has been slain.  
  
Dick releases a deep breath, but he doesn’t touch Tim again. He steps back, crosses his arms. “Is he going to be okay?”  
  
“He should wake up completely normal.” The operative word being _should._  
  
“Is he...going to remember this?” Dick’s eyes are locked on the restraints, on Tim’s wrists and ankles rubbed raw from all his struggling. Tim is going to hate them for keeping him tied down like this.  
  
“I don’t know,” Bruce says honestly. “I hope not.” Dick simply nods. He looks worse for wear, the hours of constant beratement having taken its toll. “You know he didn’t mean any of it, right? That wasn’t Tim talking. It was the toxin.”  
  
“You said the toxin aggravated him, made him angry. Anger like that doesn’t come from nowhere.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


End file.
